Under Pressure
by Collegekid2006
Summary: When Henry and Shawn are taken hostage, Shawn has to use his "psychic powers" to solve a case. The problem? He can't leave, and his father is slowly bleeding to death. Shameless Henry whump.
1. Chapter 1

"Shawn?"

Henry's eyes were open and he was sitting up in bed before he even realized he was awake. He stared into the darkness, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind he had heard _something…_

But what?

He couldn't actually remember hearing the sound, much less what it sounded like, but his rapid pulse and tensely-balled fists told him he hadn't just been dreaming…

There was definitely a sound out there…in his house...

His ears perked and for a moment he sat completely still, straining to hear whatever it was…

It came again less than a second later.

It was a soft, almost imperceptible click…like a door being quietly closed…

Then it was gone.

"Shawn?" He said again into the pitch-black silence, not sure why that was the first name on his lips. "Is that you?"

Even as he spoke the words, his mind still foggy from sleep, he knew it wasn't his son.

He slowly stood up and crept to his closet, fumbling in the dark until his fingers wrapped around the familiar, cool metal of his gun.

He moved stealthily to the door of his room and crouched down low, peering into the hallway, knowing even as he did that it was pointless.

He couldn't see a damn thing…

He stayed in the doorway for a moment, not even breathing as he listened for any indication there was someone there…

Footsteps…

Breathing…

Creaking floorboards…

But all he could hear was the chirping of the crickets out on his front lawn.

Staying low, he padded silently on bare feet into the hall once he was as sure as he could be that the coast was clear.

Suddenly, there was a small noise from the corner of the hallway…like something bumping against the end table…

He whirled around towards the sound, realizing a moment too late it was the wrong thing to do.

He was struck from behind with something hard, and before he could spin back around and fight he was lying facedown on the floor, dazed and completely disoriented. He heard his gun go sliding across the floor as it flew out of his hand, striking the wall somewhere in the dark out of reach.

He rolled over on his back the instant his forehead cracked painfully off the floorboard, biting back a groan as he tried to stumble to his feet. He didn't get more than halfway up, however, when he was struck again, this time in the face. He fell backwards, his nose exploding in a shower of blood.

This time, he didn't even try to get up.

And this time, he didn't even try to stop the groan.

A moment later, there was a blinding light in his eyes. He started to raise his hand to shield his eyes from the powerful beam, but a harsh, gravely voice stopped him.

"Don't move, Henry." It said.

It wasn't the voice that stopped him dead in his tracks, however, as much as the soft, metallic _click_ of a gun being cocked.

He gazed up into the beam, trying to make out the face of the dark figure holding the flashlight in one hand and Henry's gun in the other, but he couldn't.

The voice sounded familiar, though…

He knew he'd heard it somewhere before…

The man must have seen his brain working, trying to figure out who he was, because he laughed.

"Do you remember me, Henry?" He asked quietly, slowly raising the flashlight under his chin so Henry could see his face. The gun remained steadily fixed on Henry, aimed at his head.

Henry nodded slowly, trying desperately to shake off the disoriented feeling from the blow to the head.

"Yeah…" he mumbled, taking in the cold, green eyes and the thin, red scar that ran from the man's left temple to his jaw. "I remember you."

"Good." The man nodded, turning the beam off himself and putting it back in Henry's eyes. "Then I don't have to explain this."

The deafening gunshot echoed off the plaster walls. Henry howled in pain as the bullet ripped through his ankle, his body instinctively coiling.

"I told you you'd regret it, Henry." The man spoke softly, his voice detached and almost relaxed. "I told you you'd regret it, but you just couldn't let it go."

"You killed her." Henry gasped, still writhing in pain.

"But I didn't, Henry. I told you I didn't. I killed the others, but I didn't kill her."

"Well, _I'm_ convinced!" Henry groaned, steadily growing more pissed-off as the pain in every part of his body only intensified.

The gun was suddenly being pressed against his temple.

"You don't have to be convinced." The man said firmly. "I don't give a damn if you're convinced. You just have to convince your son."

Henry's heart stopped, the blood draining from his face.

"Shawn?"

"Oh, I've read all about your little psychic progeny in the papers." The man laughed, cocking the gun again. "Quite the psychic, too, isn't he? Solves cases for the police all the time."

"Leave him out of this!"

"I can't, Henry. He _is_ this."

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. He pressed it firmly against Henry's ear.

"You're going to call your little psychic boy and tell him to come over. Now. He's going to use his powers to prove that you were wrong about me…to prove I didn't kill that girl."

Henry knocked the phone away, his eyes flashing defiantly.

"Go to hell."

The man pushed the gun deeper into Henry's temple.

"If you don't do it, Henry, I'll kill you…and then I'll kill him."

"It's three o'clock in the morning!" Henry argued, his brain trying to process everything even as the loss of blood started to make him light-headed.

"So what?"

"So, I don't generally call my son at 3 AM for a damn chat!" Henry spat through clenched teeth. "He'll know something's up."

The man shrugged.

"Then I suggest you become a good actor, Henry. Fast. Get him over here. Now."

"I'm not going to send my son into a damn ambush!"

"Then I'll blow your brains out. Your choice."

He pressed the phone to Henry's ear one more time.

It was already ringing.

After six rings, Henry heard Shawn's voice on the other end.

"What?" He grumbled, the word barely discernable as English.

"Shawn?"

"Dad? What the hell--"

Henry looked up at the man again, his eyes narrowing in what he was sure would be his last act of defiance.

"Shawn…" he fought to get the words out, his head already starting to spin.

"What?"

"Get the hell out of town. Right now."

"_What?_"

Henry could see the anger burning in the man's eyes now…

His finger was slowly starting to squeeze the trigger.

He knew he didn't have time to explain.

"Just do it, Shawn."


	2. Chapter 2

"Just do it, Shawn."

"Dad!"

Even as he screamed into the receiver, Shawn knew it was pointless.

The line was dead.

He dropped the phone onto the bed, staring down at it helplessly.

Somewhere on the other end, something terrible was happening to his father…

He just didn't have a damn idea what it was.

He didn't have to know what it was. He had heard it in his voice.

He closed his eyes, still able to hear that voice over his own frantic, screaming thoughts.

_"...Get the hell out of town, Shawn…"_

It was quiet and distant-sounding, even in his memory.

Almost scared.

_What the hell is happening to my dad…?_

_What the hell would make him tell me to get out of town at 3 AM…?_

He opened his eyes again, his stomach lurching as he stared down at the phone one last time, as if he would be able to magically see his father on the other end if he just kept trying…

Almost before he knew what he was doing, he had pulled his shirt and sneakers on and was running out his door.

He didn't have a plan.

He didn't have any idea what he was going to do when he got to his father's house.

He just knew that he had to get there.

Fast.

It didn't even occur to him until he was halfway there that he should probably call the police…should probably get some back-up before barging in his father's front door without even a gun or a baseball bat or a weapon of any kind…

…Without even knowing for sure he _needed_ a weapon…

Once the thought did finally enter his mind, while he was doing close to ninety mile an hours down the freeway on his motorcycle, something still stopped him from pulling over and making the call.

Something in his gut told him he didn't have time.

* * *

The man slammed the cell phone shut and threw it aside angrily.

Henry didn't have time to move or even blink before the gun went off again.

This time, the bullet tore through his left shoulder just under the collarbone.

"That was stupid, Henry." The man snarled, his scar pulsing bright red in the flashlight's beam. "That was really stupid."

Henry tried to say something, but he couldn't even breathe. He closed his eyes against the pain, fighting to stay conscious…waiting for the next bullet to rip through his skull…

That bullet never came, however.

When Henry finally managed to open his eyes again, the man was still standing over him, still looking down at him with the same piercing, hate-filled glare.

"Kill me." Henry croaked, his voice hoarse from the pain. "I'm not dragging him into this."

The man cocked the gun one more time, grinning manically as he pressed it again to Henry's temple.

His finger started to pull the trigger, but suddenly stopped just short of sending the bullet into Henry's brain.

His eyes flashed as the realization dawned on him.

"Oh, I'll kill you, Henry." He laughed quietly, lifting the gun off of Henry's face. "Don't worry about that...but not until your son gets here."

He aimed the flashlight at his watch, then slowly stood up and lowered the gun by his side.

"Something tells me he'll be here any minute. I just need you to stay alive until then."


	3. Chapter 3

The house was completely dark when Shawn arrived.

He dropped his bike on the ground and crept up to it cautiously, trying to remain hidden in the shadows as he peered into the windows on the ground floor, but it was all to no avail.

He couldn't see a damn thing.

He sighed, his heart racing as he surveyed the yard, hoping to find some clue as to what was going on.

His truck's still here…

…Which means he's here…

…Unless…

His brain wouldn't even let him finish the thought.

No…

He's here…

…Somewhere…

The back door was unlocked. Shawn opened it slowly, trying to keep the rusty hinge from creaking as he silently stepped inside and started to make his way across the kitchen.

"Dad?" He whispered into the darkness, not really expecting an answer.

None came.

When he finally reached the door to the living room, he ran his fingers lightly over the wall until he managed to find the light switch.

In an instant, the world was once again illuminated.

"Hello, Shawn."

He whirled around, startled by the sudden voice from behind him.

A man he had never seen before was sitting on the stairs, calmly leveling a gun at his head.

Shawn opened his mouth to speak, but the man kept talking, not seeming the least bit interested in anything Shawn might have to say.

"Your father's upstairs." He continued, gesturing lazily at the second floor with the gun. "He's…incapacitated at the moment."

"Incapacitated?" Shawn repeated, still frozen in place. "What the hell do you mean he's incapacitated?"

The man stood up and slowly walked down the last few stairs, his sharp eyes locking with Shawn's.

"I mean he has two bullets in him, and if you don't do exactly what I tell you, he'll have a third."

He said it calmly…matter-of-factly…as if putting three bullets into someone was something he did everyday.

Shawn's eyes were fixed on the thin, blood-red scar on the man's face, memorizing every nuance and slight color variation along the three or four inch groove. For a moment, he was so transfixed by it that he almost didn't notice the man had stopped talking.

"What do you want?" He demanded finally, once he realized he could get a word in.

"I want you to prove your father wrong."

Shawn actually laughed.

He didn't mean to do it, and he was sure the raspy noise was two octaves higher and twice as shrill as normal, but he just couldn't help it.

"You don't need a gun for that!" He snorted. "And you sure as hell didn't need to shoot my dad! All you had to do was call me and say, 'Hey, Shawn! Let's go piss off your old man by proving he's wrong about something!' I would have been here in ten seconds. Hell! I would have brought pizza!"

"Shut up." The man warned darkly, once again turning the gun on Shawn.

"I'm just saying." Shawn pressed on, taking a carefully measured step towards him, making sure he was close enough to grab the gun if the man dropped his guard but still far enough away to not seem threatening. "It kind of takes all the fun out of proving my dad wrong if he's dead."

The man's fingers tightened around the trigger, and Shawn immediately knew he wasn't going to get the gun away from him.

Not right now…

"He's not dead." The man assured him flatly. "At least, not yet."

"You'll understand if I don't take the word of a psycho with a gun." Shawn snapped, spinning on his heel and heading for the stairs.

The moment the man disappeared from his peripheral vision, Shawn flinched instinctively, half-expecting a bullet in the back. But the man just calmly followed him up the stairs, neither of them saying a word.

Shawn froze when he reached the landing, all the blood draining from his face when he saw his father for the first time.

Henry had somehow managed to sit up, propping himself against the wall, which now bore a large red-brown smear just above where his shoulder was resting. His eyes were closed, but his chest was still rising and falling laboriously.

"Dad!"

Shawn forgot about the man with a gun behind him. He ran to his father's side, kneeling in the pool of blood next to him.

Henry slowly opened his eyes.

"Shawn?" He whispered, his voice weaker than Shawn had ever heard it. "What the hell are you doing here? I told you--"

"I know." Shawn smiled palely. "But since when do I listen to you?"

Henry shook his head, gasping with nearly every breath.

"I tried, Kid…" he mumbled, his eyes glazing over. "…I tried to keep you out of it…"

"You didn't have to keep me out, Dad." Shawn told him, taking off his jacket and pressing it against the wound in his father's chest. "I'm in. I'm always in."

He looked up at the man with the gun, who was standing over them both now.

"He doesn't have much time." Shawn told him. "I'll do whatever the hell you want. After you let me call an ambulance."

"No." The man snapped, gently pressing the gun under Henry's chin. "You'll do it now."

"He's going to die!"

The man shrugged.

"Then you'd better work fast, psychic."


	4. Chapter 4

For a brief moment, Shawn considered going for the gun. He glanced at it, still bobbing up in down in the man's hand as he gestured with it.

He noticed Shawn watching its almost hypnotic movements, and his grip immediately tightened.

"Don't even think about it, Psychic." He growled, tracing the outline of his scar with his finger as he pointed it down at Henry. "He'll be dead before you touch it."

Shawn closed his father's fingers around his jacket, which was still pressed to the wound, and stood up.

"You keep calling me that!" He snapped. "What the hell do you want me to do? Read your palm? Because, I gotta tell you, there are better ways to ask!"

"I didn't kill her!" The man shouted so fiercely that Shawn instinctively stepped between the gun and his father, fully expecting it to go off.

"You didn't kill who?" He asked quietly when it didn't.

"Natalie Goldsmith." Henry murmured from the floor, his voice sounding hollow. "…Natalie…"

The man nodded slowly.

"Natalie…"

Henry gritted his teeth, dropping the jacket as he forced himself to learn forward, his rapidly-dimming eyes brimming with defiant bitterness.

"You dumped her in the field…" he gasped. "…Just like the others…4 others…You finally slipped up…"

"I didn't slip up! I didn't kill her!"

"…She was 18…"

"I know how old she was, Henry." The man snapped through clenched teeth, his finger grazing the trigger. "I heard all about it at the trial. You couldn't get me for the others, so you nailed me for the one I didn't do!"

"…No alibi…the gun was in your room…"

"Because you put it there!" The man shouted, for the first time sounding dangerously close to losing his cool. "You couldn't make your case, so you planted the gun!"

Shawn subtly stepped closer to the man, still looking for an opening to take him down.

"You want me to prove you didn't kill her?" He concluded quietly, keeping his voice calm, even though he wanted to be shouting, too.

The man nodded.

"How?" Shawn pressed.

The man's tense muscles relaxed ever so slightly. His finger eased off the trigger as he took a step back from Henry.

"It was twenty years ago." He said quietly. "There's no evidence anymore. There were no witnesses…"

For a moment, his eyes seemed distant. As if he was reliving a memory he didn't want to have.

"I served seventeen years for that murder, Henry. The one I didn't do. The one you framed me for."

Shawn looked down at his father, not for a moment questioning whether or not he could have framed someone.

That wasn't even up for debate.

_But was he wrong…?_

Henry winced and suddenly turned pale.

Shawn knew he didn't have time.

_If I can just get the gun away from him…_

_If I can just get him distracted…_

"I'll do it." He said, turning back to the man. "I'll prove my father wrong. But to do it, I'm going to have to make a call."

The man looked at him doubtfully.

"Call who?"

"My friend. She's a cop…"

_Just distract him…_Shawn kept thinking, the words swirling around his mind.

_Get the gun…_

_You only have one chance…_

_Make it count…_

"No." The man shook his head firmly. "No cops! Do I look like a damn moron?"

"Yes! But are you a psychic?" Shawn demanded angrily, rapidly losing patience as he watched his father slowly drifting out of consciousness.

"No…"

"Then you don't know how the process works! I can't just pull answers out of the air! I need contact with something involved in the case! Something I can collect vibes from."

"What about me?" The man demanded. "Can't you collect vibes from me?"

"Oh, you have vibes." Shawn retorted. "But I need something that hasn't been touched since the case. Something from twenty years ago."

"What?"

"The file. I need her to look up the file and tell me what's in it."

The man hesitated, but Shawn could see he had him.

"It's the only way." He insisted. "And you'd better make up your mind fast. Because if my father dies, all bets are off. The only reason I haven't kicked your ass yet is because it might get him killed."

The man nodded slowly and handed Shawn a cell phone.

"Make the call." He said, pressing the barrel of the gun under Henry's chin. "But say one word I don't like, and he'll be dead before you can blink."


	5. Chapter 5

Juliet groaned as her phone started to buzz and jump around on the nightstand. Even on vibrate, it was more than enough noise to wrench her out of a pleasant sleep.

She glanced at the number before answering.

"2196?" She murmured. "Who's that?"

Even her state of semi-sleep, she knew it wasn't Carlton or the Chief…

"Detective O'Hara." She answered on the third ring, putting on the best professional voice she could muster at 4 AM.

"Jules. It's me."

"Shawn?"

She was sure it was him, but something in his voice was different.

Somber.

Even in those three little words, she could already hear it.

"Yeah." He pressed on hurriedly, not even giving her a chance to ask him what was going on. "Listen. I don't have time to explain. I need a favor."

She was already out of bed, searching the floor for her shoes.

"What's going on?" She asked, still trying to pinpoint the odd lilt in his voice.

_Something is definitely wrong…_

"I need you dig up an old file. Twenty years old. A girl named Natalie Goldsmith. She was murdered."

"Natalie Goldsmith?" Juliet repeated the name, grabbing a pen off her nightstand and jotting it down in her notebook. "I'm on it. Are you going to meet me at the station? I can drop it by your place in a few minutes…"

There was a pause on the line, as if Shawn had to consider carefully before answering.

"I'm not home, Jules."

"Then where are you?" She asked, unable to keep the concern out of her own voice now.

"I'm not sure."

"You don't know where you are? Shawn, what the heck is going on?"

"Don't worry about it. Just get the file and call me back. At the same number. I don't have my cell phone on me."

He added the last part so breezily that it might have escaped anyone else's notice, but Juliet immediately picked up on the clue.

"The same number? Right."

"And do it fast, Jules. Pretend it's life and death."

She nodded, her eyes suddenly growing wide as she was finally able to put her finger on the tone in Shawn's voice.

It was pure terror.

"I will." She promised.

"And, Jules?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not pretending."

"I know."

She hung up the phone and pulled on her jacket, already heading out the door. The moment she slid behind the wheel of her car, she grabbed the radio.

"This is Detective O'Hara." She spoke into it. "I need you to run a check on a phone number for me. 555-2196."

Shawn snapped the phone shut, but didn't hand it back to the man right away.

On the floor, Henry was still conscious, but his eyes were quickly glazing over and his chest was only rising and falling shallowly now.

_He's almost out of time…_Shawn thought frantically, his eyes locked on the gun in the man's hand.

_Keep him talking about the case…_

_Keep him distracted…_

_Then put a bullet through his head the second he blinks…_

"You got what you want." He said after a moment of tense silence, still trying to keep his tone conversational and not hostile. "She's working on it. I'm working on it. If you're innocent, I'll be able to prove it as soon as I get some vibes from the file. So let me call an ambulance for my dad. Now."

"No."

Shawn's eyes flashed, and for the first time he made no attempt to hide his underlying anger.

"I meant what I said." He growled, his voice low and suddenly hard. "If I think for one second I'm out of time and can't save him, I'm going to kick your ass. And I promise you I won't serve one day when I put a bullet through your damn skull."

"Try it."

"I will."

There eyes locked again, and for the first time they both knew.

It had always been a possibility, of course…a likelihood, even.

But now it was more than that.

Now it was an inescapable fact.

One of them was not getting out alive.


	6. Chapter 6

_Well, he's definitely distracted…_ Shawn thought ruefully, caught somewhere between mildly regretting his outburst and somehow feeling mysteriously purged by it.

_So, technically, my plan is working…_

He looked down at his father again, getting closer to just going for the gun with each passing moment.

_Don't do it…_

_Not yet…_

_I only have one shot…_

_I'm the only chance he has…_

_If I mess it up…if I go for it too soon…if I go for it too late… he'll die…_

His eyes were back on the gun now, which was trained directly at his skull from across the hall.

_Wait for the right moment…Just one split-second…That's all you need…_

_Don't screw it up…_

_You can't screw it up…_

_For once in your life, Shawn, don't screw this up…_

Henry was still fighting to say conscious. Every few seconds, his head would dip forward as he almost blacked out, but he always caught himself at the last second and leaned it against the wall behind him again.

He hadn't even tried to speak in ten minutes.

Suddenly, the tense, thick air was pierced by the screaming of a cell phone.

"It's Jules." Shawn said, holding out his hand for the phone, which was still in the man's left hand. "She has the file."

The man hesitated for a moment, but finally tossed the phone across the hall. Shawn opened it, carefully eyeing the gun as he spoke.

"Jules?"

"Yeah…it's me."

Her voice was clipped and professional.

"What do you have?" Shawn asked, but before he could even finish the question Juliet had already plunged into her explanation.  
"It's an open and shut case, Shawn." She told him in the same quick, urgent cadence. "But you could just ask your dad about it. Did you know he worked on it?"

She paused to take a breath, and Shawn realized she was doing the best she could to get all the information out as quickly as possible.

_She knows it's serious…_

_She knows I don't have time to waste…_

_She's trying…_

"Yeah. I know."

"I figured." She replied, but kept on talking, anyway, as if he didn't know a thing about the case. "Some guy named Felix Jaques killed her. Took her out in a field, tied her hands behind her back with duct tape, and put a bullet through her skull. It was the same MO as four other murders that same year. The police had been looking at Jaques for them. He worked as a film developer, and the first four victims had recently gone to him to get pictures developed. They couldn't ever make their case stick, though. There wasn't any physical evidence."

"What about the last murder?" Shawn asked. "Goldsmith?"

"She was a high school student. Apparently, she had dated Jaques younger brother a bit, which is how he knew her."

"Not through the photo place?" Shawn mumbled, his brain starting to chug.

"No. He switched his MO up a bit on the last one, but that's how they nailed him. He got sloppy. He didn't have an alibi for the time of the murder, like he did every other time, and they found broken glass at the scene. Jaques wore glasses, which he mysteriously couldn't produce when the police asked about them. That was enough to get a search warrant. They found the gun in his house. He was convicted on the Goldsmith murder and served seventeen years, but they never could connect him to the others. They're all still technically unsolved."

Juliet paused again, waiting for Shawn to say something.

His eyes were closed again as his brain turned the facts over, trying to makes sense of them.

"Shawn?" Juliet asked a moment later, sounding more than a little concerned. "Are you there."

"Yeah…" He said quietly. "I'm here."

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"No."

"Shawn…"

Suddenly, Henry groaned as he finally fell unconscious. The man glanced over at him, taking his eyes off Shawn for just a split second.  
Shawn's heart nearly stopped.

_This is it…_he realized.

_…My one shot…_

"Shawn!" Juliet was saying. "What's going on?"

But Shawn didn't answer.

He couldn't.

He had already dropped the phone and was going for the gun.


	7. Chapter 7

Felix turned his eyes back on Shawn almost as soon as he took them off him, but it was a moment too late.

They psychic was already charging him.

He shot at Shawn without even thinking about it, without even aiming. He just pulled the trigger out of instinctive desperation.

But it was enough.

The bullet hit Shawn just before he tackled Felix, piercing the joint of his shoulder and immediately rendering his right arm completely useless.

He collapsed to the floor in a bloody, painful heap at Felix's feet, landing inches away from where his father was laying, still unconscious.

They were so close that Shawn could actually feel Henry's shallow, raspy breaths moistening the palm of his now useless hand.

_He's still alive…_

_I'm not done yet…_

For a full minute, Shawn didn't move.

He couldn't move.

He didn't want to move.

For that minute, all he wanted was to feel his father's breath on his hand.

Finally, he forced himself to roll over.

He knew he didn't have a choice.

_I'm not done yet…_

_He's still alive…_

_I'm not done yet…_

But he never got any further than rolling over.

Felix was still standing over him, holding the gun inches away from his nose.

"That was stupid, Psychic." Felix growled, his voice trembling with rage.

"Yeah…" Shawn groaned trying to focus his eyes so he could see the man who was about to kill him. "I should've seen that one coming…"

"You're just as stupid as your father."

"It runs in the family."

This time, the bullet went through his left arm, just above the bicep.

"Do you ever shut up?" Felix demanded, his voice dangerously quiet.

Shawn didn't answer.

He couldn't even breathe through the pain, much less talk.

Felix didn't seem to notice.

He cocked the gun one last time, leveling it between Shawn's eyes.

Shawn closed his eyes, suddenly wishing he could still feel his father's breath on his hand.

He actually heard the shot reverberate off the plaster walls before he fell into the silent darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

"Shawn?"

The voice from above him was soft and distant.

At first, Shawn wasn't sure he really even heard it.

"Shawn."

This time, he was sure.

He slowly opened his eyes, but the world around him was blurry and unfocused and the blinding pain in his arm was growing worse by the second.

He didn't have to be able to see anything to know who was speaking, however.

"Jules?"

His voice was so weak that for a moment he wondered if had said anything at all…

Maybe he had just dreamed it…

"I'm here."

The world was slowly fading back into view. He could feel Juliet's fingers on his scalp, gently running through his hair.

"My dad…" he whispered, finally able to see her face above him.

"I don't know." She shook her head quietly. "He's still breathing…I radioed for an ambulance…but I don't know, Shawn."

He opened his mouth to ask what had happened…why she was there at all…why he was still alive…but he didn't have the strength.

And when he saw Felix's body on the floor a few feet away, a neat bullet hole between the eyes, he didn't have to ask, anyway.

He already knew.

He closed his eyes again and let his head fall into Juliet's lap as her fingers continued to run in soothing circles around his scalp.

"You'll be okay…" she murmured.

"Dad…"

"He'll be okay."

Shawn was unconscious again before the ambulance arrived.

He never heard the sirens, never saw the EMTs take Henry out on the stretcher, never heard them say it was probably too late…

The next sound he heard and was really aware of was Juliet voice, once again coming softly from above him.

"You awake?" It asked.

Shawn blinked into the harsh florescent lights of the hospital room, for a minute trying to remember what had happened.

"Yeah…" he nodded, his voice still sounding hoarse and gritty. "I'm awake."

"Good."

She smiled and perched on the edge of the bed. Shawn looked at her, the events of the last few hours slowly coming back to him.

"How's my dad?"

"I don't know. He's still in surgery…they won't know anything for at least a few more hours."

"Oh."

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"You figured it out." Shawn said finally, wincing as he tried to sit up. Both arms were in slings and his shoulder ached with every breath he took.

"Yeah." She confirmed. "I did, but it took me a while. Longer than it should have."

She paused, running her fingers absently over the sheets.

"When you told me to call you back at the same number, I knew it meant something." She continued a moment later. "I ran a check on the number, but it was just a cell phone. A stolen cell phone, it turned out. But then I remembered you said you didn't know where you were and you didn't have your cell phone…and I realized you didn't want me to run a check on the number at all. Cell phones have built-in GPS. They're like tracking devices. As long as the phone is turned on, you can pinpoint its location to within three miles. Once I found out your dad was working on that case you wanted me to dig up and I saw the three mile radius was near his house, it didn't take me long to figure out where you were. I was on my way before I even called you back. I heard the gunshots over the phone after you dropped it…I got there just in time."

Shawn nodded.

"I couldn't tell you what was going on. Jaques…"

"I know. He had your dad, right?"

Shawn fell back into the pillow, staring blankly up at the white stucco ceiling.

"Yeah."

"What did he want?" Juliet asked, her hand resting on his ankle. "Why did you need to know about the case?"

"He said he didn't do it." Shawn mumbled, attempting to shrug. "He said he killed the others, but he didn't kill Natalie Goldsmith. He thought my dad set him up. He wanted me to prove he was innocent."

"He confessed to the other murders?" Juliet sounded confused. "Why?"

"Why not? He was going to kill us both, anyway. What difference did it make? We weren't going to tell anyone."

Juliet nodded thoughtfully, trying to absorb everything.

"I guess now we'll never know if he really killed Natalie Goldsmith."

"We know." Shawn snorted, looking over at her. "Of course we know."

"We do?" She blinked, surprised by his confident assertion.

"You said it yourself, Jules. His MO changed with that murder. He got sloppy and the victim wasn't a customer from the photo place like the others were. He had a personal connection to her. He didn't have a personal connection to the others. Besides, he was convinced my dad planted the gun, which means he didn't know the gun was at his house. _Someone_ was setting him up, Jules. Someone who knew enough about the murders to commit a copy-cat murder."

"A copy-cat?" She repeated, not sounding convinced.

"A copy-cat who had access to Jaques' house and who wanted Natalie Goldsmith dead." Shawn nodded. "It was his brother, Jules. He had been dating Natalie. It must have gone south. The brother must have known Felix was being investigated for the other murders…he must have known he was guilty somehow. Maybe Felix told him. Maybe he kept some kind of souvenirs from the killings that his brother found…probably pictures. That's how his brother knew about the duct taped hands behind the back. Whatever it was, his brother figured it was the perfect chance to get rid of Natalie and blame the murder on someone else. Since he knew Felix did the others, it wasn't a big deal to pin one more on him…of course, he didn't know that would be the only one he'd get nailed for."

Juliet shook her head, once again awed.

"And you figured all that out while you were unconscious?"

Shawn shrugged.

"What else was I going to do?"

**Two Weeks Later…**

"I don't need you to drive me home from the hospital, Shawn." Henry grumbled, sulking in the passenger's seat of the truck.

"Yeah…okay." Shawn rolled his eyes. "You just shattered every bone in your right ankle. You can't even walk on it!"

"Well, _you_ only have one arm!" Henry shot back, indicating the sling around Shawn's left arm. "And you only got use of your other one back a few days ago!"

"Okay…first of all, you're down an arm, too." Shawn pointed out, elbowing his father's own sling. "And, secondly, I only need one arm to drive. But _you_ can't drive if you can't even move your right ankle."

"You need two hands to drive, Shawn." Henry informed him shortly. "Didn't you pay attention at all in that Driver's Ed class I shelled out 200 for? Hands at 10 and 2!"

"Don't _you_ watch rap videos?" Shawn snorted. "12 and 0 is the new 10 and 2."

He perched his good hand at the top of the wheel and spun it like a top as he maneuvered around a sharp right turn. The tires squealed, leaving a sizable black streak across the pavement.

"Knock it off!" Henry snapped. "You're going to get us killed!"

"Hey! At least I don't invite gun-wielding psychos over for pajama parties!"

Henry's mouth clamped shut.

For a long moment, he didn't have a comeback.

"I told you to get the hell out, Kid." He said finally. "It's not my fault you didn't listen."

"I know."

Neither of them wanted to talk about that night.

Neither of them wanted to remember…though, of course, they would never be able to forget.

"I didn't set him up." Henry continued, knowing someone had to say something.

"I know."

"He did it. He confessed to the others. You heard him. The son of a bitch was guilty as hell, Shawn."

Shawn smiled to himself.

Though he would never admit it, Henry wasn't telling Shawn it wasn't his fault.

He wasn't telling Shawn he hadn't been wrong.

He was asking.

Hoping…

_He can't be wrong…_ Shawn realized, glancing at his father out of the corner of his eye.

_If he was wrong about the case, then it's his fault…_

Henry was still talking, staring out the window so he wouldn't have to look at his son.

"I've missed things before." He was saying. "But not that time. Not that case. I didn't miss a damn thing."

"I know." Shawn agreed quietly. "You didn't miss anything. He was guilty as hell."


End file.
